


Ingenue

by baebel



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Breaking and Entering, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor is delusional, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Incest, Invasion of Privacy, Jealous Connor, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Harassment, Sexually inexperienced Connor, Smut, Stalker Connor, Stalking, Uncomfortable sibling relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere Connor (Detroit: Become Human), fantasies, i guess, internet stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19459390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baebel/pseuds/baebel
Summary: Stalker AuWhile working at a bar, Connor serves a drink to a jaded Lieutenant whom he promptly falls for. It's an innocent crush to begin with, but rapidly transforms into something much more undesirable."The madness of love is the greatest of all heaven's blessings." - Plato





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna try and pump these chapters out quicker than I usually do so keep an eye out for that! Feedback is always much appreciated.

Connor glanced down at his phone. 11:32 pm. He usually finished his shift around one if he was lucky - the patrons of the bar he worked at weren’t generally the type to stay out late. Most of them had returned home by now, drained from a day laying bricks or fiddling with pipes. It was always the same crowd, middle-aged men who liked to drink but weren’t willing to pay more than a few dollars for a beer. The bar knew it’s customers well and presented itself accordingly. Instead of music, the drone of a monotone news report rumbled beneath what little hushed chatter there was. The lights were low and warm, but only managed to provide substantial lighting to half the bar, despite its small size. 

More often than not, Connor was grateful he’d gotten the job. It was one night a week, and enough to make up his half of the rent, but tonight was particularly slow. He scanned the bar. A pair of regulars were tucked in the back, playing the same card game they always did. Another customer sat with his eyes glued to the TV, beer warming between his hands.  
Connor decided a touch of conversation couldn’t hurt. “You from around here?” He asked.  
It took the stranger a moment to realize Connor was speaking to him and when he did, only shrugged in response and turned his attention back to what must have been an incredibly captivating advertisement. Connor could only blame himself for expecting anything more. 

With little else to do, he began to wipe the bench down for what must have been the third time that night, reassuring himself that this wouldn’t be forever. As soon as he finished training at the police academy he could start working full-time, move into a nicer apartment. Niles had been trying to convince Connor that they needed to move to another state completely, but Connor wasn’t willing to leave Detroit and neither sibling had even considered parting ways. Despite those around him insisting the opposite, he genuinely believed he could make a difference. He wanted to help people, and he would.

The sound of glass smashing pulled him from his train of thought. He’d knocked a tumbler onto the floor. He sighed, annoyed at himself, and knelt to pick up the pieces.  
“Alright?” Asked one of the regulars, concerned.  
“Alright.” Connor responded and tossed the shards into the bin, reaching beneath the bench for a dustpan and brush and getting to work. It was then that bell above the door rang, indicating another customer had just walked in. The timing seemed cruel. “Just a moment, please.” Connor called, and took a few moments to finish the task before standing back up.

The new customer wasn’t too different from the other men in the bar; fifty-something, scowling, hunched over in his seat. “Should be more careful.” He mumbled.  
Connor smiled and forced a breath of laughter. “You’re probably right.” He said, and then “Can I get you something to drink?”  
“Yeah. Whatever whiskey you got that won’t cost me.”  
“On the rocks?” Connor guessed.  
“Stiff.” 

He turned to make the drink and felt his cheeks warm. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean it was welcome.

He was always the type to put school or work above… pleasure. Niles was the same. They’d spent their teenage years devouring as much information as humanly possible. Their adoptive mother Amanda had always insisted studying was the only valuable use of their time, and neither cared to argue. She’d been right in part, of course, both brothers were well on their way to building successful careers, but there was no denying that sacrifices were made. Connor had never given himself the opportunity to explore his sexuality, and was still stuck fast in the idea of romance as an unnecessary distraction. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop his palms from sweating when he felt the gaze of an older man linger a little too long, or the hairs on the back of his neck rise when they asked him when his shift ended. The most he gave in return was a polite smile and dismissive excuse.

He turned back to serve the customer his drink. “You let me know if I can get you anything else.”  
“‘Course.” He took a swig of his drink and nodded towards the TV. “Could change the channel.”  
Connor grabbed the remote from behind the bar. “What to?” He asked.  
“There's a game on tonight. Detroit gears.”  
Connor blinked. “There was.” He said slowly. “It finished airing two hours ago.”  
The customer looked at him blankly. His eyes were blue. “Shit.” He said after a moment of silence between them, and took another sip.  
Connor smiled sympathetically. “Long day?” He asked.  
“You have no idea.”

A phone buzzed. The customer rolled his eyes before answering the call. “What?” He asked. Rather rude by Connors standards. He waited for an answer. “Shit- again? So soon?”  
Connor listened in. He couldn’t help it. He’d always paid particularly close attention to his environment. The only two words he caught were ‘body’ and ‘Hank.’ Strangely enough, the latter intrigued him more. Hank. He glanced up at him. He fit his name - casual, aged. Simple. “Jesus, it’s barely been ten minutes.” He grunted, and then, “Of course it’s fucking urgent, it’s a homicide!” Hank plastered his hand over his eyes, and stood up. He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll come. Give me a couple minutes to finish my drink at least.” He hung up without another word and did just that, downing the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp. “Another one for the road?”

Connor took the glass and filled it again. Hanks yelling had unfortunately only deepened his blush. He doubted he would notice. “You’re… a lieutenant.” He stated dumbly. He was rarely flustered, and unsure of how to handle himself. “I’m training at the academy.” Connor’s consciousness reminded him to reel it back in - he was oversharing, a carnal sin among the Arkaits.  
“Oh.” Hanks expression softened. “You look… young.”  
“Young enough.” Connor responded.  
“Good luck.” It was an expected response, but Connor found himself hoping it was genuine. Hank downed his drink and pushed a few crumpled bills forward.  
Connor shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He found himself saying. “On the house.”  
Hank was unsure, but he wasn’t the type to turn down a free drink when it was offered. “Thanks.” He said, stuffing the notes back into his pocket. “See ya.”

Connor watched as he left the bar and headed towards his car. Had they spent any more time together, he would have liked to ask him about his career. He’d served a fair few cops, sure, but those ambitious enough to make detective rarely crossed his path. He wondered if they’d soon be working together before quickly casting the thought aside. Even if they did meet a second time, it was highly unlikely anything would come of it. Hank was probably married- probably had kids near Connor’s age by now. And even if he didn’t, Connor’s apprehension had yet to be overcome. It was better like this, harboring harmless little crushes that never saw the light of day. He’d survived this long. Hank, like all the others before him, would be eventually forgotten.

The night passed increasingly slowly. The last customer had ordered another beer ten minutes before closing time and insisted Connor hear a long-winded recount of his day at work. Apparently his boss’s sex life was weighing on his mind so intensely he felt the need to share it’s graphic details to every stranger he came across. When he’d finally finished, he praised Connor as a ‘good listener’ before handing him a dollar tip and leaving. Finally. After a quick clean-up, Connor texted Niles assuring him he was on his way home.

His brother was still awake when he arrived, which wasn’t uncommon. He could operate on an obscenely small amount of rest and chose to spend his nights pouring over his philosophy readings. “Have you slept yet?” Connor asked, placing his bag on the kitchen counter and approaching Niles, who was seated on the couch with his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him.  
He shook his head.  
“You should eat something, at least.” Connor insisted.  
“I will.” Niles replied dismissively. He was like this more often than not - distant, a little cold, but they’d grown up together and Connor couldn’t find it in himself to fault him for it.  
“I’d gonna head to bed.” He announced and when Niles nodded in response, did just that.

After a quick shower, Connor lay in his bed on his back, eyes searching the ceiling. Usually he’d fall asleep within a few minutes, but he was having trouble tonight. As soon as he closed his eyes, he’d be reminded of Hank. His voice, the way he’d responded when Connor had told him he was training at the police academy. Would he remember him?  
He reached over and grabbed his phone, which had been resting on his bedside table. He opened his search engine and typed in ‘detroit police detective hank,’ hoping for his own sanity he found nothing. The first few results included the Wikipedia page for the DPD and a pair of uninspired articles. Then, the ‘Detroit Police Department’ facebook page. It was worth a shot.

Among the grainy depictions of missing persons, there were a few posts featuring smiling officers accepting giant cheques or standing in uniform. The most recent was only posted two weeks ago. Connor scrolled through the photos, studying each face he passed with more intensity than the last, ensuring he’d read every comment on every post. Then- a group shot of at least a dozen people. He scanned the names. Peyton. Jeremy. Tucker. Byron… and Henry ‘Hank’ Anderson. Connor felt a warm satisfaction smooth along his spine and began to scroll through the users that’d liked the post. There he was again. Henry Anderson. 

Hanks profile photo wasn’t of himself, but of a dog. According to the caption, his name was Sumo. Connor liked dogs. He began to scroll through his timeline. It wasn’t incredibly active, he wasn't expecting it to be, but Connor found what he was looking for.  
On the 9th of September last year, someone named Tina had wished him a happy 53rd birthday. A week before he’d posted something about a band called ‘Knights of the Black Death.’  
The user Gavin Reed had tagged him in an article about the link between failed marriages and alcoholism. Connor couldn’t help the surge of relief he felt.

The further back he scrolled, the more frequent Hanks posts became. One photo was of him with his arm around a friend, smiling awkwardly at the camera. His hair was shorter and far neater than it had been this evening. He had stubble, but not quite a full beard, and had yet to develop heavy bags beneath his eyes. Handsome, Connor thought. His wife had been misguided in letting him go. If Hank was his there’d be little Connor wouldn’t do for him. If Hank was his. Now what would that be like?

He could be good for Hank, if given the chance. They’d start out slow. Small-talk in the break-room at work. Eventually Hank would muster enough courage to ask him on a date and Connor would laugh and admit ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ There’d go somewhere nice, but not too nice. Somewhere reasonable. Hank would arrive late and complain about traffic, but be quickly forgiven. Connor imagined it would be a little awkward to begin with. They’d fill the first few minutes with workplace drama and well-timed laughs, but eventually things would fall into place. Hank would slowly open up, let Connor know that he hadn’t done this in a while. Connor would say the same. 

They would talk for hours, and get along so well that when Hank asked Connor if he’d like to come back to his place, he couldn’t refuse. When they were finally alone, the last of Connors worry would fall away, and he’d kiss Hank who, in response, would place a hand on his hip and oh, god, what would Hanks hands feel like?  
Eyes still glued to the phone in front of him, Connor slipped a hand beneath his shirt and smoothed his fingers over his stomach. Hank would he gentle initially, he was sure of it. He would ask before wrapping his thick fingers around the length of Connor's cock.

He was already half-hard. Perhaps denying himself for so long had been a mistake. Maybe, just for a moment, he could be permitted to fantasize. He stroked himself once and let out a shaky sigh, felt his face contort with pleasure. It would be so much better if Hank were with him, though. Pressed against his back, whispering encouragement into his neck.  
“That’s it, Connor.” He would say. “So fucking good for me, aren’t you?”  
Connor nodded and stroked himself again, allowing his thighs to fall open. “Yes.” He promised the empty room, and it was true. He would do just as Hank asked him, let go of his own hesitation and instead rely completely on whatever instruction he was blessed with. Connor appreciated direction. Especially, he imagined, when provided by someone like Hank. Someone with authority. Someone confident. Someone who would take care of him. 

He moved his legs against the soft cotton of his sheets, pressed his head back into his pillow. Hank had such kind eyes, he thought. Perhaps he was jaded now but beneath it all remained some part of his younger self. Connor could see it. Maybe, with enough time, he could remind Hank of the man he used to be. Maybe he could fix him. “Hank.” he said aloud.  
“Connor.” Fantasy Hank replied with a chuckle. His voice was almost hypnotic, low and gravelly and sure. Everything that Connors was not. He placed his hand on Connors chin, swiped his thumb over his bottom lip. “Just relax for me.” He said. “Don’t think too much.” 

Connor did, and quickly gained steady rhythm. Any last shred of guilt he’d felt at masturbating while imagining a stranger he’d only just met quietly slipped away. Hank was in control here, he reminded himself, not him. He was the reason for the tightening of his stomach, the moans that left his lips, the heat spreading across his neck. He wouldn’t fuck him the first time, Connor reasoned. Hank would be hyper-aware of his partners inexperience and focus entirely on making sure he was enjoying himself, despite being hopelessly aroused himself. He would press his erection against Connors back.

“See how hard you make me?” He asked.  
Connor nodded in response and rocked his hips forward shyly.  
“That’s it.” He said again. More encouragement. “Fuck my fist, baby.’  
Baby. Connor hadn’t much experience with pet names, but he decided he liked them. It meant Hank was pleased with him. He whimpered in response. Hanks touch was so much more sure than his own. When the hand around his cock stilled, he made up for it by doing as he was asked, canting his hips forward. He was embarrassingly desperate by this point, but he couldn’t stop. Not now, not when it felt so good. He felt himself begin to shake.

“You’re going to cum for me already, are you?” Hank asked.  
Connor gasped before realizing it was true. It had been so long. He needed this. “Yes.” He admitted, and felt himself approach the edge of orgasm. “Yes.” He repeated. “Hank-”  
“I’m here.” Hank assured. “Cum for me, Connor.”  
The pleasure was blinding. Connor shoved his face into his pillow to muffle his moans, jaw clenched. He felt the warmth of his seed dribble over the edge of his fist and onto his bedding. He was, for a moment, incredibly pleased at having done what was asked. Hank would be proud. He fell asleep with his phone beside him, still displaying the same picture of Hank.

He woke up feeling the best he had in months. Satisfied and without guilt. It was a wonderful feeling to be free of his own judgement. He did feel a tad bitter, though, but only because his fantasy had been just that and not reality. Had he come on a little stronger last night, asked a few more questions, perhaps it could have turned out how he now hoped it had. He would have woken up next to Hank and had the pleasure of making him breakfast, of driving him to work. They would get along, Hank would make comments about last night that Connor could only blush in response to. 

But he’d met a dead end. Unless Hank came to the bar again, there was little chance they’d run into each other. It saddened Connor slightly, but he recognized that it was probably for the best. His little experiment last night had been fun, sure, but it didn’t have any real weight. It wasn’t as though he had the confidence to message Hank or send him a friend request on facebook. It was over, for now, and he was okay with that. If he never saw him again that only meant he’d be free to fantasize as much as he pleased without having to think too much about it. 

Only, as luck would have it, Hank decided he hadn’t given the bar a fair shot. It’d be nice to go somewhere he hadn’t already cultivated a reputation for himself. He was banned from two other bars and been given too many warnings to count. That, and he found his thoughts drifting back to the bartender one or twice during the week. He was just a pretty face, really, an ambitious trainee with hopes of shooting for the stars. Hank hadn’t been too dissimilar from him at his age. He seemed genuinely interested in Hanks work, which was a breath of fresh air. Usually, when he wasn't half-yelling at his co-workers through the phone, he preferred to keep the work he did under wraps. People tended to think differently of him once they’d discovered he was law enforcement, not that he could blame them.

He showed up later than he had last week, just around 12. He peered into the bar and saw it was empty, save for the same lone bartender that’d served his last time, who was stacking glasses on a table. Hank pushed the door open and cleared his throat.  
“You’re not closed, are you?” Hank asked.  
Connor stiffened. He recognized that voice. He carefully placed the glasses back onto the table before turning to face Hank and blinking once- twice, before shaking his head. “No.”  
Hank didn’t seem convinced. “Look, it’s no trouble.” He said. “There’s another bar just-”  
“It’s fine.” Connor said, smiling, and moved back to the bench. “Same as last week?”

Hank stepped inside and allowed the door to fall closed behind him, stepping up to the seat directly in front of Connor. “Surprised you remember me.” He half-joked.  
Connor could already feel himself begin to react. This was bad. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure how to excuse himself. “You were yelling.” He tried, passing Hank his drink.  
He shrugged. “Yeah, well. Work.”  
“It’s difficult, then?” Connor asked.  
“Course it’s fucking difficult.” Hank retorted. “Its… Well. It’s a nightmare.”  
Connor tipped his head slightly to the side. He did feel sympathy for his customer.  
“Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” Hank continued. “Not my worst enemy.”

“I’ve always dreamt of being an officer.” Connor said quietly as way of explanation. “I think I can do some real good. That’s part of why I moved here, actually.”  
Hank looked mildly disturbed. “You didn’t grow up in Detroit?” he asked.  
“No. In fact, I grew up in a rather… upper-class neighborhood.” Connor replied sheepishly.  
Hank nodded. “Well. You wanna make a difference, Detroit is the place to do it.”  
Connor licked his lips nervously. “Have you lived here long?”  
Hank nodded. “Oh, yeah. Born and raised. I doubt I’d ever move, either.”  
“Ah.” Connor nodded. “It’s nice being away from home but it has taken some adjusting.”  
“These things always do.” Hank provided, before turning his attention to the TV.

Connor was a tad disappointed the conversation had ended so quickly, but felt too nervous to speak much more. One slip-up, even if he just called Hank by his name, and he’d have to explain himself. He walked back around to the tables he was clearing and continued on with his work. Pushing the seats back in, emptying the ash trays. He was a little slower than usual, perhaps because he and Hank were the only ones in the room and without either talking, it was incredibly quiet for a bar. Part of him wanted to ask about how his day went, if there were any interesting crimes committed or people arrested. He kept that part of him quiet by focusing all his energy into his work- which is why he didn’t hear Hank when he called him.

“Hey- uh… excuse me?” Hank asked. “Excuse me?”  
“Oh, yes, sorry. What can I get you? Another of the same?” Connor responded when he realized he was being spoken to. He stepped back over towards the bar.  
“Thanks.” Hank replied. “But you don’t gotta be so nervous. I’m not gonna yell at you. That last week was just workplace drama.”  
Connor relaxed slightly. “I’m not nervous.” He insisted.  
“Oh, yeah?” Hank asked. “You keep sneaking glances. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”  
Connors neck reddened. “That wasn’t… I’m not nervous.” He repeated quietly, filling Hanks glass again.  
“Yeah, sure.” Hank murmured. “But you know - I get it. You’re young. Probably get a lot of guys with bad intentions cross your path.” 

Connor couldn’t believe his ears. Hank didn’t seem like the type of person to ask about that sort of thing. Hank was a lot more open now than he had been. Connor had initially chalked it up to them being alone, but perhaps he’d been wrong. “If you don’t mind me asking,” He began, well aware he was about to cross a line. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”  
Hanks expression changed instantaneously. He rolled his eyes. “What’s it to you?”  
Connor didn’t quite know where to go from here, so he kept his mouth shut.  
Hank finished off the second drink and stood up from his chair, placing a few bills onto the counter. No tip. “‘Night.” He said and, before Connor would stop him, left the bar.

Connor stood still for a moment, dumb-founded. He’d been in the wrong, he knew. He shouldn’t have asked. He ran to the door, flipped the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ and, after he’d switched off the lights, headed outside towards his car. He got in and pulled onto the road. He saw Hank up ahead, driving at a reasonable pace. If Connor was going to apologie, he needed to be quick about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags were updated. Wanted to get this to yall as soon as possible!!

The drive took ten minutes, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to calm down. Every time his breathing slowed he’d be reminded of the terrible mistake he’d made in insulting Hank, and his heart rate would jump up another dozen beats per minute. A quiet voice in the back of his mind insisted that he was being unreasonable, that Hank was an angry drunk looking for a reason to be pissed off, but even so, Connor knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself until after he’d apologized and, assuming Hank didn’t intend on returning to the bar a third time, this was Connor’s only foreseeable chance to make an attempt.

The area was residential and quiet. Garbage floated from one side of the road to the other before catching in the panels of a graffitied fence. Hank’s car slowed down and turned down into a driveway- his driveway. The house was… okay. It wasn’t what Connor had been expecting but then again, his own standards were quite separate to those of Hank’s. Amanda would have a field day critiquing the patchy lawn and outdated color scheme. He watched as Hank got out of his car and stepped up to his front door. Connor moved to do the same.

He walked quietly, not wanting to scare Hank, but wasn’t able to reach him before he’d locked the house. No matter- Connor need only knock. He took a deep breath before doing just that, but received no response. He tried again, a little harder this time and waited a few seconds longer. Still, nothing. He pressed his ear to the door to hear the muffled sounds of a TV. Oh. He stood taller and attempted to peer through the glass at the top of the door- only it was too dark. Connor sighed in frustration and chewed his bottom lip while deciding what to do. He could wait, but there was no telling how long for. It was cold, anyway. He could apologize over facebook but knew Hank was much more likely to respond positively if he did so in person.

Connor glanced around the house for inspiration before it struck him. Hank’s blinds were pulled shut, but not entirely. If he could tap loudly enough on the glass to get his attention... He stepped down from the platform and approached the first window, peering in past the table in the middle of the room. He couldn’t see Hank, though, which meant it was unlikely he’d be able to hear him very easily at all. He began to walk around the side of the house, pleased to realise there was yet another window - one that provided a view of the back of Hank’s couch and the screen in front of it. Only Hank wasn’t watching a basketball game, as Connor had expected. Or the news. Or a late-night talk-show. 

Connor had never seen porn before, but this was most certainly it. His eyes widened, face reddened, palms began to sweat. Hank was watching porn. He’d assumed that, like a wide majority of people, Hank was a sexual creature that engaged in the expected habits, but now he was witnessing it first-hand. The woman on-screen was a slim brunette moaning enthusiastically around two fingers pressed between her lips. The audio was still muffled, but Connor could definitely make out three distinct voices. Two belonging to the actors in the video and the other, Hank’s. He groaned lowly and Connor considered the possibility that he might faint. His gaze was stuck fast to the scene in front of him. He couldn’t move. His head was pounding. 

And so, he watched. He watched as the fingers on-screen were replaced with the length of a cock. Hank’s arm began to move ever so subtly. If Connor didn’t know what to look for, he more than likely would have missed it. But he hadn’t. Hank was jerking himself off and initially, all Connor could think was that he’d surely much rather shove his cock into the mouth of a willing other. Connor would do it. Perhaps not well, but Hank would be understanding. He’d guide Connor nice and slow, fingers laced through his hair, all the while ensuring him he was doing so well. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if this was something that Hank did often, or if it was a result of his drunken state. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time, and known exactly which video he’d wanted to pull up. Maybe he’d figured it would help him calm down, release some of the frustration Connor had caused. Was he thinking about him now, then? While he stroked himself? The thought was almost too much to bear. Connor wouldn’t have minded at all, of course. It was only fair, he’d done the same thing and at this rate, had every intention of doing it again. His own cock begged for attention, stiff between his legs. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to miss a second of this- even if all he could really see was the back of Hank’s head. 

He pressed his palm against his crotch and gasped, stepping closer to the window, careful now not to make any noise. His breath fogged the glass. It would be so easy to call out for him now, or to tap against the window and let him know what he’d seen but that it was okay, that he could help him. Connor knew though, that now was not the time. He should let himself enjoy the moment while he still could… Realizing Hank wouldn’t last forever, Connor grabbed his phone from his pocket and tapped to open the camera, quickly dismissing any worry that what he was doing could be wrong. Hank had left his blinds open enough for someone to see inside and really, the photos weren’t showing much.

They were all incredibly similar, but he couldn’t help taking dozens of them, just in case. He was so wrapped up in his own little fantasy he barely heard the sound of a car starting next door. When he did, he ducked down and immediately shoved his phone back into his pocket. He could feel his heart in his throat when he realized what he’d allowed himself to do and, more importantly, how easily he could’ve been caught. If he wanted to avoid exposing himself, he needed to be much more careful from now on. He watched as the car drove past and became aware of just how flustered he was. Connor sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath, when his phone vibrated.

It’d been on silent luckily enough, but pushed him further into nervousness. He answered. “Niles- What..? Yes, no, I’m not going to be much longer.” Connor furrowed his brow. “No- maybe twenty minutes? Yes. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you then.” he whispered down the line before hanging up. His brother had mentioned something about a visitor, which was incredibly confusing. It would’ve been the first time they’d had anyone over since they’d moved, excluding Amanda. Niles was a solitary creature wherever he could be and preferred to keep to himself, certainly not the kind of personality to be entertaining guests at this hour. Deciding to ask him about it when he returned home, Connor moved away from the window, creeping towards his car.

He’d only just approached the door to his apartment when it was opened by a stranger- a brunette with a scar across his nose and a rather annoyed expression. “Shit.” He mumbled seemingly to himself and pushed past Connor, eager to leave. This only confused Connor further. He couldn’t imagine his brother willingly putting up with such behavior. He stepped inside to see Niles seated on the edge of the couch, cheeks dusted pink.  
“Who was that?” Connor asked, unsure if Niles would give him an answer.  
Niles inhaled long and slow. “His name is Gavin Reed. We’ve been familiar for quite some time now.”

Connor blinked. “Familiar, as in…”  
“I believe he considered me his boyfriend.”  
“Considered?” That sounded about right. Connor was bad at understanding social interaction, but Niles was worse. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d led some poor soul on, but to Connors knowledge, he’d never returned home with anyone. “And I’m assuming you didn’t reciprocate?”  
“I wanted to explore.” Niles explained. “I thought that it might assist with my understanding of Kierkegaard’s work.”  
Ah. That made a little more sense. “I’m assuming he wasn’t aware of this, then?”  
Niles shook his head. “No, but he assured me he wasn’t looking for anything serious either.”  
“How many times have you heard that?” Connor asked, approaching the couch to sit beside his brother. “You need to be more careful with these things- not everyone means what they say.”  
“They should.”

“You expect to see him again?” Connor asked after a moment.  
“I don’t intend on seeking him out.”  
“But you do expect to see him again.”  
Niles didn’t answer. “You seemed hurried over the phone. Did I interrupt something?”  
Heat returned to Connor’s cheeks. “I believe I may have developed a crush.”  
“Another?” Niles asked mockingly. “Have you spoken to him?”  
“Yes.” Connor asserted. “Twice. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to the bar, though.”  
They’d had this conversation many times. Niles knew Connor was far more delicate than himself, and it worried him to no end. He trusted people far too easily, and would allow himself to be hurt as a result. “Are you going to go after him?”  
Connor smiled warmly up at his sibling. “I’d like to.” He said. “But no, I won’t.”  
“If you did insist on dating, ” Niles began, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “I don’t know if I’d approve of anyone you’d met at work. I’ve seen the type of crowd you draw in.”  
“It’s not me.” Connor laughed, standing from his seat and hovering over to the kitchen. Niles watched. “Let’s eat together.”  
Niles nodded.

They did so, but Niles insisted on keeping a book open beside him. Once Connor had accepted it wasn’t going to be put away, he could only lean over his brothers shoulder and look on. The page read ‘What is it that gives emphasis to the speech of the angels? It is love. What is it that transforms the widow's mite into an abundance? It is love. What is it that turns the words of a simple man into wisdom? It is love. What is it that never changes when all else changes? It is love; and only that is love which never becomes any-thing else.’ It sounded awfully poetic considering the material Niles usually read. 

He’d loved before, he reasoned. He loved his brother along with their mother, despite all her faults. He’d just never been in love. He could be, one day, when he learnt to approach romance with his own wants and needs in mind rather than bending to the will of whomever he was interested in. During his school years he’d been manipulated relentlessly by the boys around him and sworn never to put himself in a vulnerable position until he’d changed. That change had yet to arrive. While he was aware of himself now more than ever, he was still thought of as naive. It had been near scandalous when he’d suggested moving out of state, and had only been permitted to do so once Niles promised to keep an eye on him. He knew it was for his own sake, but he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted at the insinuation he couldn’t make his own choices. 

“Is there anyone you’d approve of?” Connor asked.  
Niles glanced away from his book, a rarity, jaw clenched. “Have someone in mind?”  
“No.” Connor admitted. “No, I don’t. But I think it might be nice one day.”  
Niles thought hard. “If you could bare to date someone your own age, someone with a job or at least a plan to get one, perhaps I could turn a blind eye.”  
Connor would rather his brother embraced his theoretical future partner wholly, but understood his loyalty to mother. He valued her insight in a way Connor never really understood. “Does she know about Gavin?” He asked.  
“No.” Niles said immediately. “But I would tell her if she asked.”

Connor bit his lip, and thought back to where he’d been an hour ago, peering through the window of a near-stranger, eyes glued to the slight movements of his shoulder. The image refused to leave his head. He’d only meant to apologize, but Hank had insisted on making the entire situation a little more complicated. How could Connor be expected to get over him again now, after they’d shared such an intimate moment?  
“I’m not always going to be so restrained.” Connor told his brother. “I’ll change.”  
Niles turned back to his book. “People rarely do.”  
“But I will.” Connor insisted.  
“Goodnight.”

Niles had always been difficult, but he rarely shut Connor down so completely. Connor knew the annoyance stemmed from a desire to protect him, but he couldn’t help but feel it was unfair. Niles was far freer to make his own decisions than he’d ever been.  
“Goodnight.” Connor responded, picking up his plate and placing it in the sink before heading to bed. It was only when his head hit the pillow that the events of the day surged to the front of his mind. He unlocked his phone with shaking hands and scrolled through the most recent photos, half-worried he’d imagined the entire fiasco. But no- there they were. His mouth went dry. If Hank knew, would he understand? Would he ask, if he didn’t, and listen while Connor confessed? He’d probably be a little annoyed, at least to begin with, but Connor could win him over. He was a police officer living in Detroit- surely he’d seen worse. In comparison to the vicious murders he’d dealt with, Connor’s mistake was nothing.

Hank would understand that Connor hadn’t meant any harm, that he wouldn’t willingly put his career at risk. He wasn’t a criminal, just young. Maybe he’d even find the humor in Connor’s desperation to be forgiven. Maybe eventually, they’d get along again, and look back on the incident as a harmless misunderstanding. He’d start drinking at the bar again, become a regular, and all would be well. Of course, Connor had yet to apologize. He needed to be sure that Hank understood where he was coming from before the rest of his fantasy could play out. And given that he wasn’t going to come back to the bar any-time soon, Connor would have to find another approach.

Knowing Hank would likely block him if he tried to contact him over facebook, Connor began to concoct a plan that would result in him bumping into Hank in a way that would seem natural. He could wait outside his house for a chance to approach, but would have to explain why he was wandering around a quiet suburban street alone. There was no way he’d get away with hanging around outside the police station, either, which meant that his only hope was to track his movements. If he could get his hands on a radio, maybe he could tune into the police system. It wouldn’t be too difficult. Then all he’d have to do is listen for the sound of Hank’s voice and track him down while he was working and explain himself.

He smiled and placed his phone on his bed-side table, intending to do the necessary research in the morning. For now, he let himself imagine what it’d be like when everything fell into place. It was slowly beginning to become a part of his nightly routine. It wasn’t always explicit, but it did always involve Hank. Tonight's fantasy consisted of what Connor was sure would result from his apology. He wouldn’t mention that he’d followed Hank home, of course, but instead recall that he’d spent the rest of the night cleaning up the bar alone, that it was strange not having any customers to serve. Hank would feel sympathetic and maybe even a little guilty at having left Connor alone. He’d said himself that it was dangerous for someone like Connor to be working when and where he was, that he should be cautious.

Hank would probably have to explain that he was sensitive about his addiction, in the same blunt way he explained everything, and Connor would promise to make sure Hank was sober enough to drive himself home at the end of the night and if not, call him a taxi. Hank and Connor would become familiar with one-another after that and, one drunken night, Hank would admit he was just as creepy as any other customer. He knew Connor was too young for him, too bright, that he was handsome enough to get the attention of anyone he wanted, but couldn’t help but feel attracted to him. Connor would stop him and mention that Hank was different from the rest. He was kind, loyal, a little mean on the occasion but only when he had to be. 

Connor would tell Hank he liked him too. That if he was willing, they could see where things went between them. For once he’d forget about the worries and expectations of his family members and instead do as he wanted to do. Maybe it was selfish, but he’d earnt the chance to consider his own wants for a change, and he definitely wanted Hank. He couldn’t kid himself any longer. Not only did he want to apologise to Hank, he wanted to be far closer to him. What was initially a fantasy could, with enough dedication, manifest into reality. He would get what he wanted, in time. Apologizing was the first step of many on the increasingly elaborate plan forming inside his head.

Connor wouldn’t be satisfied keeping entirely to himself for very long. His coworkers all dated, and now his brother, too? He deserved to be given a chance at the very minimum. He deserved Hank. The realization filled him with a satisfying warmth. He could stop pretending. He could admit to himself that much of what he was doing stemmed from a desire to form a closer relationship with Hank. He wouldn’t leave it up to chance or fate to decide, but instead do everything in his power to ensure that Hank felt the same way about him. And he would.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pulls up three months later* get in loser, we're going stalking.   
> Sorry for the wait. Tags have been updated.

It took a surprisingly small amount of time to learn Hanks route by heart, especially once Connor marked it out on a map. Taut string indicated his daily circuit, from his house to the DPD, one of three bars and home again. The only thing that Connor wasn’t able to map reliably was crime scenes, but he’d managed to get his hands on a police radio scanner that allowed him to listen in on the conversations Hank was having and fill in the blanks. They were never very interesting, but they didn't need to be. Connor could sit with the radio pressed against his ear for hours, breath hitching whenever Hank responded to his coworkers. He was always so harsh, sparing no vulgarity, but Connor didn’t mind.

After a week, Connor became impatient. He wanted not only to listen in on his conversations, but be a part of them. Of course, he’d have to make it look like an accident. He doubted Hank would respond particularly well to the knowledge Connor had been religiously tracking his movements. It wouldn’t be difficult to pull off, people simply ran into one-another. As long as he had an explanation lined up he was confident he’d be let off the hook. To ensure the conversation flowed smoothly, Connor kept a journal filled with all the information he could possibly gather, which was a surprising amount considering how inactive Hank’s social media was.

He had entire pages dedicated to the bands he listened to, a crude but neat chart tracking the relationships of his friends and co-workers, and an ever-growing study of his ex-wife, whose facebook profile was... less than impressive. She talked frequently about Hank despite the divorce, and never kindly. If she’d managed to convince Hank to marry her, Connor had all the chance in the world. The journal was kept neatly in the drawer beside his bed, along with printed photos of Hank. It was only a small collection, but Connor was proud of what he’d managed to gather. 

The day the plan could finally be put into action came, and Connor could hardly contain his excitement. Niles had looked up from his book - a rarity - and asked Connor if he was missing something. He could only giggle sheepishly in response before pushing open the front door, phone in hand. He knew where he was going, but he had to be sure. He had to be sure. He put one foot in front of the other, eyes glued to the moving dot on-screen. Fifteen minutes and he’d be there- with Hank. He could feel himself shake, the palms of his hands sweat. Would he recognize him? If he did, would he be forgiven?

By the time Connor was standing out in front of the bar, he was exhausted. He could feel his head pounding in anticipation. This was it. He stepped inside and slipped his phone into his back pocket. He froze, eyes glued to the ground, before swallowing his fear and making his way over to the bar. He didn’t dare look at anyone else in the room until he’d had a drink or two. The bartender walked over, an eyebrow raised. “You… after a drink?” He seemed skeptical.   
Connor nodded and swallowed. It had been months. “Ah- yeah.” He fumbled lamely. 

A warm hand landed on his shoulder. “Give him a beer.”  
Connor turned to face the smiling stranger. He had short, cropped hair and broad shoulders. Late 40’s. “Thanks.” He breathed, shifting in his seat. “I’m Connor.”  
“James.” He sat down in the seat beside Connor, and paced his drink on the bar. “Didn’t think I recognized you.”  
So he was a regular, then. He might know Hank. Connor smiled, tilting his head to the side in a way he’d been told was endearing. “Why would you have?”  
James sipped his beer, glancing around the bar, which gave Connor permission to do the same. “Pretty small bar. Not a lot of new faces around, especially on a Tuesday night.”   
“Ah.” Connor nodded. The bartender placed his beer in front of him. He took it, and surveyed the room once more. It was cramped, both due to its size and the surprising amount of people present. The floors looked like they hadn’t been properly cleaned in years. There was no music or TV - conversations were loud and tasteless. He grimaced. It didn’t seem like the type of environment Hank would enjoy. Did he have the right address?

He reached for his phone before James interrupted his train of thought. “What are you looking for?” He asked after clearing his throat.  
“I’m sorry?” Connor asked, and James’s grin grew.   
“Oh, don’t be.” He said. “But at least admit you’ve heard of the bar’s reputation.”  
Connor shook his head, mind whirring. “No- no, I haven’t.” He was getting flustered, trying to decipher what James could possibly be referring to. How could he have missed such an obviously crucial detail? “Tell me?”  
James sat back in his seat and looked him over, pausing to consider his next move. He drained his beer and stood from his seat, wrapping an arm around Connors shoulders and encouraging him to do the same. “Come.”

They pushed past many lingering men and Connor was beginning to see a pattern. It was a gay bar. Swimming in the stench of aggressive sexuality, snippets of dirtied conversation pieced together to illustrate the room. The heavy weight of pointed attention was impossible to ignore, so were the disproportionate amount of gay couples. He blamed himself for not realising sooner, and felt a pang of jealousy at the realization that Hank was probably in search of a one night stand. Connor would leap at the chance to spend a night (an hour, even) with Hank, but he’d yet to spot him. James lead him into the bathroom, and Connor wrinkled his nose. It looked disgusting, and smelt even worse. They stepped into one of the stalls - neither bothering to lock the door. Connor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. James backed him into a wall, knee resting between the younger man's thighs. “You’re not bad looking, y’know..” He said, and Connor flushed. He wasn’t attracted to James, not really, but he couldn’t help the way he’d reacted. He glanced out of the stall, half-expecting to see Hank. What would he think of Connor now?

“Tell me why you came here, if not for this.” James said, still unsure if Connors ignorance was feigned. He was being careful.  
Strangely, Connor found himself answering. He hadn’t intended to, but he’d never been particularly good at lying. “I was looking for someone.” He blurted.   
James’s hands were inching their way under the younger mans shirt, undoing buttons as they went. “Oh, yeah? And who’s that?” James asked against the crook of Connors neck. His breath was warm.  
Connor knew he shouldn’t respond. He was putting himself at risk. If James knew Hank, and there was a reasonable chance he did, he could out Connor. “His name is Hank.” He said quietly.  
James chuckled. Connor grasped onto the back of his shirt. “The cop?”  
Fuck. Connor couldn’t believe he’d confessed. All his hard work up until now could be wasted… though there was no denying the incredible amount of relief he felt one he’d finally acknowledged his crush out loud, even if it was to a stranger. “Yeah.” He breathed. His palms began to sweat. “You know him?” Obviously.

James shrugged. His hands had made their way past Connor’s chest, and smoothed up his neck, resting on the edge of his jaw. “Well, yeah. I guess.” He said. “He keeps an eye on me.”  
Connor wasn’t sure what that meant, and he wasn’t given a chance to ask.   
“How do you know him?” James asked. Connor could feel him smiling.   
“I- I’m a bartender-”  
“Hah!” Laughed James. “Yeah, that’d do it.”  
Hanks drinking habit was no secret, but Connor didn’t think it warranted torment. “He was sweet.”  
James pressed his knee further between Connors thighs and moved closer. “Of course he was.”  
Connor turned his head. His cheeks were flushed, mind slow. James was attractive, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to go much further. “What do you mean?”  
“He called you pretty, didn’t he?”  
He hadn’t, Connor would have remembered, but the image was enough. He let his eyes close.  
“Must have. Made sure to mention how young you were too.” James said confidently. This part was true - but how could James have known?  
“I’ve seen him pick up more times than I can count. You’re exactly his type.” 

It was then that Connors ears began ringing. If James was still talking, he couldn’t hear. He was Hank’s type. His chest physically ached - the knowledge that Hank might find him attractive was almost too much to bare. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, and tried hard to stay grounded. Hank affected him in ways he’d never experienced. He reminded himself to breathe, and after a moment, heard the low rumble of James’s voice pose a question.   
“What?” Connor asked.   
“Does he know you’re here?” James asked.

Connor couldn’t answer. He’d already said far too much. Instead of responding verbally, he slid his hands beneath the fabric of James’s shirt, and let his head fall back against the graffitied stall wall. The invitation was gladly accepted. James slid his fingers upwards, threading them though Connor’s hair. His lips moved against the smooth, pale white of Connors neck slowly, as though he’d come to understand that he wasn’t going to be offered much more. It felt good. Had they met before Hank, Connor wasn’t sure he’d have enough reason to resist.

The bathroom door opened, and Connor grew weaker. It was Hank. Not imagned Hank, but in the flesh. They held eye contact for a long moment. It was clear that he’d recognized the bartender, but remained impassive. He was half-way through undoing his belt but seemed to decide he could wait, tucking the leather back through his belt look and turning to face the door. Hank couldn’t leave now, not on his behalf. Connor felt like apologising. It was too much. He shifted against James’s grip, pulling himself away. “He’s here.”  
James sighed, aware now that his fun for the night had come to an end. “You gonna go after him?” He asked in a tone that could only be understood as mocking.   
Was he? Connor didn’t bother apologising to James before he slipped out of the bathroom.

The bar was just as full as it had been 10 minutes ago, if not more. He scanned the room twice, and then a third time, but couldn’t see Hank anywhere. An indescribable stress rose in his throat, his eyes burned. He’d read about panic attacks, but not experienced one until now. Hank was tearing him apart, and remained ignorant. Connor regulated his breathing, and slowly crept towards his usual state of control. He swallowed, and held himself still for a full minute before walking outside. The air was fresher and allowed Connor to breathe easier, to consider where exactly things went wrong.

He glanced down the street. It was empty. Hank’s car was nowhere to be found. He pulled out his phone and tapped a shaking finger to his brother’s number. He held it against his ear and listened to it ring.   
“Why didn’t you text?” Niles asked as soon as he picked up.  
Connor grimaced. “Could you come and get me?” He asked.  
Niles went silent. “Where are you?” He asked a moment.  
Connor gave him the address and, against Niles’s advice, hung up. He needed to think. He leant back against the building next to the bar, and watched the quiet street for any signs of life. 

Admitting the night hadn’t gone to plan was a gross understatement. Clearly, Connor hadn’t been prepared enough. He needed to do more. More research, more timelining. He’d poured so much energy into ensuring that tonight would be everything he hoped, and yet. He wrapped his arms firmly around himself. The positive in all of this was that Hank had recognised Connor. He had little reason to, they’d only met a handful of times and there was little chance he’d managed to conclude he was being… courted. The corner of Connor’s mouth pulled upwards in a small smile. He was managing to weave his way into the older man’s life, even if it wasn’t in the way he’d originally planned. 

Niles arrived shortly after, parking and waiting silently for Connor to make his way over to the car. He did. They were half-way home before either of them spoke.   
“Don’t let yourself get hurt.” Niles said, less sympathetically than could be reasonably expected.  
Connor swallowed, considering how to respond. “I don’t plan on it.”  
Niles didn’t seem impressed. “This isn’t going to end well.”  
Connor’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know him.”  
“I don’t need to.” Certainty coated Niles’s voice. He’d always found solace in knowing he understood his brother, and was understood by him.  
Connor sighed. “You don’t have to monitor me. I’m not a child.”  
“I’m not monitoring you.” Niles said. “I promised mother you’d be taken care of.”  
“You always were so obedient.” Connor could hardly believe the words that left his mouth. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d directed an insult at his brother.   
Niles fell silent and pulled into the carpark below their apartment building. He turned to Connor, who refused to meet his gaze. “We both know this isn’t about her.” He said. It wasn’t what Connor wanted to hear. He got out of the car and began walking towards the elevator.

After concluding he needed to gather more data to ensure his next meeting with Hank would be successful, Connor decided to break into the lieutenant’s home. It was a surprisingly small leap for him to make. He didn’t intend to harm Hank, he wasn’t a monster, but instead wait patiently for the man of his dreams to leave for work, leaving the house for Connor to explore. The planning stage was always exciting, but now it was underlined with a certain urgency. He’d strayed too far from Niles’s line of sight and sooner or later, he’d be caught. If he wanted to ensure a relationship with Hank - and god, did he want to - he needed to do so now.

The opportunity came around midday, while Niles was attending a class and Hank was likely heading to work. Connor tried hard not to let excitement blind him this time around, and readied himself to the excursion ahead with a stony face. He wore jeans and a dark shirt on the off chance he made the choice to stay after the sun had set, and packed all the necessary equipment in an old, worn backpack. He carried with him a camera, batteries, and zip-lock bags for one or two souvenirs. He’d lurked in online forums and taken advice others had given, with exceptions. Connor hadn’t yet been convinced that installing home security devices were necessary, despite the popularity of this approach. He trusted Hank.

He had to park a street away, just to be safe, but approached Hank’s house from the front. Hank wasn’t friendly with his neighbours, so it was extremely unlikely he’d be confronted. Connor made his way to the side of the house, and pulled the window open. It was difficult to manage from the outside, but Connor could barely feel the throb of his fingers over his own building anticipation. He landed with both feet solidly on the carpeted floor, and was immediately greeted with the friendly curiosity of a dog. “Hey, Sumo.” Connor coaxed gently reaching into his backpack for a treat. He wasn’t an incredibly effective guard dog. As soon as he recognized Connor had nothing else to give, he padded back over to his bed.

Connor immediately felt overwhelmed. Standing in the living room was an entirely different experience to staring at it through a dirty window. He inhaled, long and slow, determined to remember the way it smelled. The scent of alcohol was thick, and Connor frowned. Hank would have to commit to drinking far less if they were going to seriously date. Connor approached the   
couch and sat down, sinking into its plush cushions. He let his hands smooth over the faded fabric. On the coffee table in front of him was a gun, an empty whiskey glass, and a photo of Cole. Connor swallowed and stood up. Hank would tell him what had happened when he was ready.

The bathroom was small and unexciting, save for the collage of sticky-notes that bordered the mirror above the sink. Connor smiled and allowed himself permission to take one, replacing it with a message of his own. The notes, along with a pen, were stored below the sink. Connor thought for a short while about what to write before deciding on ‘Be open to love’ It was simple but sound advice. Hank had been single for years and yet there was no indication that he’d even attempted to seriously date since the divorce. Once he accepted that he deserved romance, Connor would be able to approach him yet again.

He made his way to the bedroom, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. This was where Hank slept. Deciding to save the best for last, Connor opened the door to his wardrobe. The brightly printed shirts were horrendous, a crime against good taste on anyone but the man they belonged to. Connor ran his hands over the fabric before slipping a particularly obnoxious button-up from its hanger. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, breath shaking, before placing his bag onto the carpeted floor and delicately slipping it over his head. He wrapped his arms around himself.

After taking a moment to calm himself down, Connor turned to Hank’s bed. It hadn’t been made, no surprise there, but Connor didn’t mind. He lowered himself onto the blanket, head against the pillow, and turned his head to indulge once again in Hank’s scent. God, it was good. Comforting and demanding. Nothing compared to the real thing, of course, but Connor could wait. The next time he was here, it’d be by invitation. Hank would be cautious, treat Connor with all the delicacy in the world. He’d pull him over to the bed and undress him patiently, reassuring him all the while. Connor wouldn’t have to say much, only nod in response and accept whatever Hank was willing to give. 

His cock was already beginning to harden, and Connor was no longer one to deny himself. He unbuttoned his jeans and stroked himself over his underwear. Hank would tease him for a while like this, hands pressed into his thighs, keeping him pressed against the bed. Connor tilted his hips upward, already needy for more stimulation. “Please. I need more, Hank-” Hank loved the sound of his voice, but it wasn’t quite enough. “Hank, touch me.” Connor turned onto his stomach and began to stroke himself. Hank would draw it out for as long as he possibly could before Connor began to whine again. He would steady Connor with a hand on his waist, and lean down to hum encouragements in his ear. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” He asked teasingly.  
Connor pressed his face into the pillow, a weak attempt at hiding his embarrassment. He never knew quite how to respond when Hank complimented him. “Mhm.”  
“It’s a mystery I still haven’t fucked you yet.” He pondered.  
Connor’s mouth fell open. “Oh, god.”   
“You like the sound of that, do you?” Hank chuckled, stroking quicker.  
“I do. I do.” Connor confessed, as though it weren’t already obvious. “I want you.”  
“Want me to what, my love?” Hank asked. He wanted to hear him say it.  
“I want you to fuck me.” Connor began. “Hold me down and push inside me- fill me up. Own me.”  
“I will.” Hank promised, and Connor believed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shortened the plot so the last chapter should be out within the next two weeks

Connor’s obsession grew. He knew that there was no returning to a life without Hank, whether or not he wanted to. The man filled him with an excitement he hadn’t felt since child-hood, the giddy anticipation of a blossoming romance. He was too perfect to give up, despite his flaws. Connor became blind to his own bad habits as well as Hank’s. Following him home was perfectly justifiable as long as he remained out of sight. Snapping pictures with an expensive new camera was a compliment, as long as he kept them for himself. Hank was a Lieutenant. Surely, if he were bothered by Connor’s behaviour, he’d have no problem confronting him.

It was friday night but instead of going out for a drink as was typical, Hank had opted to walk Sumo. The dog needed it and Connor preferred a quieter environment. It made taking photos easier. He kept a fair distance behind Hank and moved as quietly as possible without making himself too obvious. Hank had never caught him and wouldn't tonight, either. It was too perfect to be ruined. The streets were bare and glowing under the full moon, inviting Connor to trail the man he loved. He ached to be with him now, to walk beside him, but knew to be patient. Hank would be his in time, but for the moment he could bear being alone. 

Sumo lifted a leg and Hank stopped to turn, just an inch. Connor raised his camera and waited for a few moments before snapping a dozen pictures in rapid succession. They were of terrible quality, as could be expected, but Connor didn’t mind. He knew Hank’s features well and could fill in the gaps where need be. The curve of his nose, the crease between his brows, his thin lips and hard frown were all a cemented firmly in the forefront of Connor’s mind. The standard of the photos mattered little. Connor only wanted a small piece of Hank to hold, as well as the excitement that came with acquiring it. 

Hank began to move again. Connor paused before doing the same, pleased that the detective hadn’t seemed to notice he was being followed. Connor suspected Hank didn’t think himself important enough to be stalked, despite his career. Although Connor knew it would be unfair to himself, part of him wanted to be recognized for his efforts. He wanted Hank to know how dedicated he was, how completely infatuated. Connor had sacrificed so much time and energy into their relationship, Hank would have no choice but to forgive him.

Connor knew this route well, and felt himself frown once Hank turned down his street. Connor stayed close to the edge of the walkway and stilled, watching Hank wander into his driveway from a safe distance before turning back himself. He’d followed Hank at least a dozen times now, and it was becoming a part of his routine. He needed to make sure that he didn’t get too confident, though. It would only take one mistake for Hank to notice him, and then he’d be confronted, and then… Connor couldn’t lose Hank. It simply wasn’t an option. With the exception of his brother, he was the only person that really mattered.

By the time he reached the front door of his apartment, he’d managed to calm himself down enough to avoid an interrogation. Niles had a vague idea of what was going on, and seemed perfectly comfortable criticizing Connor’s every move because of it. He was more like his mother than he realised. Connor smiled to himself at the thought and turned into the living room. It was empty. “Niles?” He asked aloud. No response. His brother was usually home this time of night. It was strange, but certainly not cause enough for concern. He walked into his bedroom and stopped dead in the doorway. 

Niles was sitting on the edge of his bed, flicking through a familiar notebook. One connor knew was filled with notes detailing Hank’s routine outings. “What are you doing in my room?”  
Niles lifted his head. His eyes were cold. “Who’s Hank Anderson?”  
Connors breathing began to quicken. He wanted to cry and scream and beg Niles to leave, to forget what he knew. “He-...” Connor swallowed. “He came into the bar.”  
“And… what?”  
“And nothing.” Connor admitted.  
Niles sighed, disappointed in his brother. He began to tear at the sheets in the notebook, allowing them to fall wherever they chose. The sound was deafening.  
Connor lurched towards him, attempting to pull it from his grip. He was crying. Sobbing. “Give it back!” He demanded. 

Niles kept going, ignoring the pleads of his brother. Page after page after page. Connor had never seen him this angry. It terrified him. Once it was empty, he tossed the cover onto the floor and sat back down on the bed. Connor moved to gather the pages that were still legible, but stopped himself. He covered his face with his hands. “Why?” He mumbled.  
Niles spoke with the same tone he always did. “I should be asking you the same question.”  
“He liked me, Niles.”   
“I should be turning you into the police.”  
“No- no, please-” Connor begged. The same feeling he’d felt in the bar returned. He could feel himself slipping into hysteria. He’s been so careful. He didn't deserve this.

Niles paused. “You haven’t spoken to him since, have you?” Connor shook his head, sniffling. “Good.”  
“Good?” Connor asked.  
Niles nodded. “Yes, good. It’ll be easier for you, and if you stop now he may not suspect anything.”  
Connor didn’t want to stop. His desire for Hank had transformed long ago from a fantasy to a need. He couldn’t imagine living without him. He didn’t want to be alone again. “I’m not letting him go.” He said firmly. Niles wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.   
“Yes, you are.” He retorted. “You have to.”  
Connor fell against the bed, eyes blinking up at the blank ceiling. “I’m sorry, Niles. I can’t.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Connor wasn’t sure how well Niles understood that his dedication was genuine. This wasn’t a crush. He felt the way love felt. Desperate, hungry, blind. Niles had never expressed anything close to it. Connor doubted he’d ever been genuinely attracted to anyone, let alone in love.  
“You can’t feel the way I do.” He said carefully. “And you can’t even begin to understand it.”  
Niles fell beside him and closed his eyes. “I can.” He said. “I love you.”  
Connor almost felt like laughing. Instead, he sighed. “It’s not the same.”   
“How do you know?” Niles asked. He was confused. He’d always had trouble with emotions.  
Connor paused. “I just… do. You don’t want me in the same way I want Hank. Its maddening.”  
“I was jealous.’ Niles confessed. “I felt angry. I felt possessive.”   
“As brothers do.” Connor turned to look at him. “We’re all one-another has. It’s always been that way. The difference now is- I’m not satisfied. I want to be with someone.”  
Niles realised his defeat. “It doesn’t have to be him. You can start fresh with someone else. Someone your age.”  
“It’s him.” Connor said. He rested his head against his brothers shoulder.

“Promise me you won’t get caught.” Niles didn’t expect anything good to come of it. If he had, he would’ve probed further.  
Connor smiled. “I won’t.” He promised softly.   
“You can’t keep all this in the house.” He said, standing from the bed. “I want it all out by tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, I got it!” Connor was grinning now. He followed his brother to the bedroom door and stopped him. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask- what do you want for dinner?”

After they’d eaten, Connor began the grueling task of properly filing away his collection. He quickly forgave Niles’s little outburst. Anything worth keeping could be restored to its former glory with a strip of tape. The hard part was keeping focused. After the fifth photo of Hank in the shower - the one where the camera dipped a little too low - Connor could feel himself begin to shake. He pressed on, ignoring his lust and instead focusing on the task at hand. He counted 62 photos, three maps and two entirely intact notebooks. He wanted to show it off. The online forum he’d been frequenting thrived off of stuff like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to risk it. He doubted he’d ever have the opportunity to share it with anyone else. Niles finding it had relieved him of some stress. Though he still couldn’t be entirely honest, he no longer needed to lie to his brother. Niles may not approve, but at least he was attempting to sympathise. 

By the time Connor finished, he was exhausted. This love thing was hard. He fell onto his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, letting his eyes close. Niles was the more rational sibling. Surely, if Connor was doing anything too dangerous, he’d have been stopped by now. Niles did try, but not with any real conviction. He trusted Connor to make his own decisions, however poorly others may receive them. It felt wonderful to finally be in control of himself, to be permitted a life outside their miniscule apartment. He could hardly wait for whatever came next.

He needed to break in again. He’d been craving it ever since the night he’d initially set foot in Hank's house. Unfortunately he’d not made any substantial effort to drag himself to work lately, and his drinking habits were becoming unpredictable, even for Connor. It was becoming increasingly difficult to pin-point a time when Hank wouldn’t be home, and until now Connor hadn’t been willing to risk it. He could wait a little longer, he reasoned. Hank wasn’t going anywhere. Despite his dramatic intention to kill himself, Connor had made sure the house was clear of bullets. Hank would blame himself. He always did.

Niles had insisted that Connor at least take his phone with him this time. He could keep it on silent as long as he called Niles by midnight if things were going well. If not, Niles could begin to worry. He didn’t like taking anything he didn’t have to. If he left his phone in Hank's house it’d be over. If Connor was given the opportunity to explain himself, he doubted he’d be able to keep himself calm. Niles hadn’t agreed . He needed to have some say in his relationship with Hank, Connor was beginning to realise. If he couldn’t stop it, the next best thing was to monitor it as intensely as possible. It was… inconvenient, but not inconvenient enough for Connor to complain. 

He’d arrived in the early hours of the morning, eager to watch Hank wake gradually. He’d fallen asleep at the dining room table over a chinese takeout container, hand resting on an unloaded gun. The presence of a weapon seemed to comfort him, even if he had little intention of using it. Connor could understand why. It was a hard, heavy machine. It felt good to hold. To have control over. Connor had felt an incredible rush of responsibility when he’d initially removed the bullets from Hank’s gun. He’d potentially saved Hank’s life. All he had to do now was to make it worth living.

Eventually, after about three hours of quiet patience, Hank began to stir. He groaned and tipped his head back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Connor couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. No matter- the windows were shut. He wouldn’t be heard. Even if he had been, Hank wouldn't have bothered investigating. Connor wondered how far he could go before being caught. It was a dangerous game to play, and for now, this was enough. To watch Hank rise from his seat and gravitate towards the fridge, butter burnt toast and scratch Sumo behind the ears was enough. For now.

Connor pressed his forehead to the window, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Hank turning away, down into the hallway. He didn’t bother with showering this morning, and instead emerged back into Connor’s view dressed in an unironed button-up and jeans. The usual work attire. Connor swelled with pride. He was going to arrive an hour earlier than expected, by his usual standards. He watched him toss a few of last night’s beer cans into the bin and smiled. Although Connor had every intention of spending the day alone exploring the house for himself, watching Hank complete menial tasks was almost just as satisfying. It fuelled his fantasies of domestic bliss, of what it would be like once they finally moved in together. 

Hank grabbed his keys and stuffed them into his pocket. Connor watched him head towards the front door, and heard it close behind him. He pulled himself back from the window and crouched lower so as not to be seen as Hank drove past. He waited a few minutes, just to ensure he was alone. His heart hammered in his chest, spurring him on to push the window up and clamber inside the house. Sumo recognized him instantly and sat up, tail thumping against the carpeted floor. Connor smiled and knelt down beside him, fishing the treats from his backpack. “Good boy.” He praised quietly, attempting to run his fingers through the dogs matted fur.

He made his way over to the dining room table and picked up the gun. It was empty. He moved to put it back, only hesitating slightly. Although he understood Hank’s relationship to his weapon, that didn’t mean he approved of it. Either way, there was little beyond what he’d already done that would go unnoticed. If Hank’s gun went missing, he might lose his job. Connor didn’t want that. He stepped away from the table to avoid spiralling. He’d done that a few times recently, and it took very little to set him off. He turned his back to the gun and walked towards the living room.

He sat down, and felt his cheeks flush once the memories of the first night he’d followed Hank home pushed to the front of his mind. He’d watched from the window as Hank stroked himself, evident from the subtle movements of his shoulder. It was filthy, and Connor couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. He remembered the way he’d felt, shocked and overtaken with infatuation. He craved to feel that way again. He still had the photos on his phone, which he quickly pulled out and began scrolling through. There weren’t many that didn’t feature Hank, but Connor knew exactly what he was looking for.

They weren’t incredibly clear, but they didn’t need to be. Connor remembered every detail of the encounter. His breath against the window, chest pounding, mind whirring once he’d realised what was going on. He zoomed in on the photo, as though it would get him closer to Hank. He wanted him. More than anything. He was willing to sacrifice his relationship with his brother and run the risk of a criminal record just to be a part of Hank’s life, and it was becoming increasingly frustrating to remain hidden in the background. He let himself imagine, just for a moment, what it would have been like if he’d gone home with Hank that night. 

James had mentioned he was Hank’s type, so it wouldn’t take much convincing on Connor’s part. As long as he reminded himself to avoid sensitive subjects, all that was left to do was accept the compliments Hank would so willingly give away. He would mention how young Connor was, how pretty. How he must get hit on all the time by guys Hank’s age, that he probably wasn’t interested. Connor would return the favour as subtebly as possible, and mention his shift ended in another hour. Hank would wait by the entrance to the bar while he cleaned up, and take him home.

After they’d made it to Hank’s place, he wouldn't waste any time. He’d encourage Connor over to the couch he was sitting on now, mention it had been a while since he’d done this with a light chuckle, only for Connor to assure him he was doing perfectly well. They would kiss, hard, and Connor would pull away to watch Hank turn pink. He’d watch with wide eyes as Hank sank to the floor and unzipped his pants, palming Connor’s cock through the thin fabric of his briefs. God, that felt good. Connor would tilt his hips up, desperate for more sensation. Hank would mention how sensitive he was.

And he was. He’d only just slipped a hand under the waistband of his pants and he was already rock-hard, staring at the photo on his phone. His lips were parted, he breathed slowly. He wrapped his fingers around his cock properly now, and began to stroke. He didn’t have the patience to take things slow, and even if it did it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. The pleasure already building rapidly. He turned and pressed his face to the couch, inhaling the scent Hank had left after the years. Connor’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let his phone drop to the floor. It had been a minute, maybe slightly more, and he could already feel the edge of his orgasm, just out of reach.

Once Hank had finally wrapped his lips around Connor’s length, he wouldn’t be able to resist moaning out loud, clutching at Hank’s hair. Hank would only hum eagerly, and sink further down before stopping completely still. Connor would beg for more. “Please. Hank.” He’d ask desperately. “I need you. Please.” Hank would move so terribly slowly, and Connor would result to making up for it himself. It’d start small, moving his hips just enough to get the friction that he wanted, pushing his cock in and out of Hank’s lips, watching it shine with spit. Hank would then stop, and Connor’d finally understand what Hank wanted him to do. 

He would fuck Hank’s face like he was fucking his fist now, moving earnestly, without much regard for anything other than his own pleasure. He could feel it. The tightening in his stomach that meant he was close. He pressed his face deeper into the couch, gasping, eyes screwed shut, toes curled. The sound of his fist moving over his cock seemed so loud in the quiet of Hanks home, but he couldn’t stop now. He was so, so close. When he finally came, it was almost painful. He’d really, really needed that.

Connor relaxed into the couch and waited for his breath to even out, for the pleasure to subside. His seed had spilled over his first and onto the fabric of the couch, but no big deal. He could clean it up in a moment, and Hank would be none the wiser. He wasn’t a particularly observant man. Once Connor had returned to his usual state, he picked up his phone from the floor and tucked it into his backpack after making sure Niles hadn’t texted or called. He still had at least a few hours before Hank returned home from work, and intended to enjoy every minute of it.

He stepped down the hallway slowly, as though he were exploring the house for the first time, and smiled fondly once he reached Hank’s room. He couldn't resist. Connor slipped inside and closed the door, making his way over to the wardrobe. He’d been keeping track of Hank’s clothing for a while now, and wanted to confirm he hadn’t missed anything. He sorted through the shirts, humming quietly to himself. Once he and Hank were together, he’d do the washing and ironing himself. It was clear that since his wife had left, Hank hadn’t bothered to adopt the habit himself. 

Then, the front door opened. Connor heard it slam. Footsteps. He couldn’t move - and if he could, where would he go?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is super late and super ooc but y’all knew it was self-indulgent!!! Hope the fandom is still alive :X  
> thanks king for editing

Connor froze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Hank was home and he had no realistic plan of escape. He could burst through the door and make himself known, risking his entire operation and providing Hank with the perfect opportunity to attack. Or he could wait, drop to the floor and shuffle his way under the bed. He might be there for hours. Days, even, if Hank was feeling particularly sorry for himself. In the end he couldn’t bring himself to do either. His ears were ringing, his hands were sweating. The panic that settled over him now was far from unfamiliar, but still managed to prevent him from taking any action outside his immediate, animal response. He couldn’t even breathe.

The steps grew closer, increasing in volume until they stopped just in front of the door Connor now faced. A strange sense of temporary calm overtook Connor, if only for a moment. It was all finally over. He’d been caught red-handed without room for excuses. He would be forced to tell the truth. Hank would forgive him, or he wouldn’t. He’d call the police, or he wouldn’t. Either way, the realisation that his life as he knew it was in the hands of another, older man, brought some strange relief to Connor, as though the weight of his responsibilities had been lifted. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he realised. 

The bathroom door opened, and the footsteps faded. It was then that Connor began to cry. He tried to keep as silent as possible, and slammed a hand over his mouth to prevent his sobs from reaching Hank. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears fall. He didn’t want to lose him. Not now, if at all. They still had so much to experience together. Connor wanted a life with Hank, and he would get it. He certainly deserved it after all the work he put in. No- this wasn’t over yet. It couldn’t be. 

When Hank opened the bedroom door and stopped to stare at the intruder, Connor couldn't make him out through the constant stream of tears that spilled down over his cheeks. He blinked rapidly, wanting desperately to see the man in front of him with full clarity. His body began to shake, but he didn’t move. A single step forward and he feared his knees would buckle below him and send him crashing onto the carpet below. “Hank.” He breathed when he’d finally caught his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

He felt his head slam hard up against the wall behind him, the hand around his neck tightening. It had happened so fast, he’d barely registered what was going on until the pain began to subside. Hank had pushed him up against the wall and was pinning him in place, their faces inches apart. He was saying something- he was yelling. Connor couldn’t make out what until the ringing in his ears subsided. “Hank.” He gasped, hands raising to the thick fingers around his throat. “You’re hurting me.”

“That’s the fucking idea.” Hank yelled. His words were slurred. “You wanna explain to me what the hell you’re doing in my house before I shoot you?”  
The cold metal against Connor’s stomach scared him into submission, despite his knowledge the weapon wasn’t loaded. “I-“ He grasped at the hand around his throat, only for Hank to squeeze harder in response. “Okay- Okay! I’m sorry!”  
“What do you want from me, huh?”  
Connor blinked, and finally Hank's face came into focus. God, he was perfect. “I just wanted to be close to you.” He answered honestly.  
Hank laughed. Connor felt the urge to laugh with him. “What?”  
Connor held his gaze, his lips falling apart to pant desperately. “At the bar. I… I liked you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Hank was lost. His grip loosened, if only slightly, and his features softened. “Who are you?”  
Connor tried not to get upset. It wasn’t Hanks' fault, not really. It had been so long since they’d seen each other. “I was a bartender.; I still am. Whiskey. Stiff. Remember?” He asked, a second wave of panic setting in. If Hank had forgotten, there was very little chance he’d believe Connors motivations.  
“Shit.” Hank said, and the corner of Connors mouth twitched upwards- the hint of a smile. Hank did remember. “And what do you want with me now?”

Connor placed a hand over Hanks, and smoothed his long, pale fingers over his worn knuckles. “I wanted you.” He promised wholeheartedly. “Just you.”  
Hanks' expression shifted dramatically from anger to disgust. He jerked violently backwards as though he’d been burned. “What the hell are you saying?”  
Connor felt terrible., It must be an awful lot to take in. “I know it’s confusing.” He said lightly. “But I would never lie to you-“  
“You’re fucking insane.” Hank responded. He was shaking. “You’re crazy, you know that? Shit- I thought it was me! I thought I was imagining it all. But no- it was you.”  
Connor stepped towards him, hands outstretched as though he were calming a wild animal. “Hank-“  
“Stop!” Hank yelled, pointing his gun against Connors forehead. “Stop calling me that.”  
Connor was confused. “But it’s your name.”

It was then that Hanks' resolve finally broke. He dropped the gun to the ground and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was crying. “Shit.”  
Connor hadn't meant to scare Hank. He’d never hurt a fly, let alone the man of his dreams. He placed a hand on Hank’s shoulder and guided him gently over to the unmade bed where they both sat in heavy silence.  
When Hank finally composed himself, he stared intensely at the weapon on the floor. He couldn’t look Connor in the eye - not yet, at least. “I’m not a crier.” He said gruffly.  
“It’s okay.” Connor insisted, smoothing his fingers over the curve of his back to rest against the nape of his neck. “I don’t mind.”

Hank laughed again. “You don’t have a right to mind. You broke into my fucking house.”  
Connor shrugged. “To be fair, your security system is rather… friendly.”  
Hank smiled. For a long moment, he did nothing else. Then: “I’m going to call the police.”  
Connor sighed and moved in closer, resting his forehead against the lieutenants shoulder. He inhaled, long and slow. If he were serious, this was probably the last time he was going to be given the opportunity. “I don’t think you want to.”  
“I should.” Hank responded. “I should tell them you broke into my house.”  
Connor bit his bottom lip. “You’d be selling me short.” When Hank didn’t respond, he continued. “I stalked you. For weeks. I took photos, too, an entire album's worth. I watched you masturbate and imagined what it’d be like to feel you inside me. I was obsessed with you. I still am.”

Hank didn’t move. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly terrified. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this strongly about anything. “I thought I was crazy. You let me believe I was crazy.”  
Connor looked at him. He had such a gentle face - big brown eyes and a childish cowlick. “I didn’t know.” He whispered tenderly. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I just couldn't stay away.” He paused. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”  
Hank laughed., Again. Connor couldn’t work out what was so funny, and so he smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course. I took a different approach, though. Not as… invasive.”

Connor was quiet. He didn’t want to think about the people that Hank loved. “You’re taking this remarkably well. I was worried you might attempt to shoot me.”  
“I’m too drunk to aim.” Hank responded. “Besides- they’ve been looking for a reason to fire me. A dead twink in my bedroom might just do it.”  
“So then, that leaves-“  
“I’m calling the police.” Hank assured Connor. He ignored the part of himself that suggested he should feel guilty for putting such a bright young man behind bars. This wasn’t an over-eager young man in love, this was delusion. Insanity. Connor was dangerous. “If everything you’ve told me is true- they’ll find more than enough evidence to put you away for a real long time.” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Hank.”  
Finally, the older man turned to meet the gaze of his stalker. “What did you expect to happen, if not this?”  
Connor felt his cheeks warm. He wasn’t ashamed of his attraction to Hank, far from it, but admitting his fantasies out loud was intimidating. “I thought you might feel the same way I do.” He began, wetting his lips. “Maybe not immediately- but over time. I went to that gay bar hoping that I might run into you. That you’d buy me a drink and take me home, that you’d fuck me into the mattress and promise to call-“  
“I wouldn’t have.” Hank asserted.  
“I know.” Connor paused. “Isn’t it funny? We’ve only met four times and yet I already know you intimately. It seems I might be the only one.”

Hank shook his head. “The hell has my life come to?”  
Connor shifted slightly, his lips dangerously close to the shell of Hank's ear. “We could be good together, if you’d give me a chance.”  
Hank made a half-hearted attempt to shove Connor away. Feigning resistance meant he still held the moral high-ground. “You really think I’d be able to trust you?”  
Connor hummed. “When was the last time you were in a relationship?” He asked as though it mattered.  
“I dunno- years. Why don’t you tell me?”  
“There hasn’t been anyone since the divorce, has there?” He asked. His voice was heavy with sympathy. He cared about Hank, neither could argue the opposite.  
“No.” Hank responded finally. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Connor ran his fingers through Hanks short, grey hair. It was due for a wash. “Because you don’t believe you deserve anyone else.” He provided.  
“And because no one deserves me.” Hank finished. It was incredible how rapidly he’d allowed Connor to make himself comfortable. Then again, this could be his last day as a free man. He deserved some sympathy.  
“Not even a crazed stalker?” Connor proposed. His smile was soft and model perfect. “I accepted all of your flaws the moment I met you. I’m only asking that you return the favour.”  
Hank turned and pressed his forehead against Connors chest. It was wrong, but when had that ever stopped him before? Connor accepted him. He’d seen it all already. His darkest moments. Who could blame Hank for finding some solace in the fact he wasn’t completely forgotten?

Conor held him for a long, long moment. His heart was racing, but he remained composed externally. He had to, for Hanks sake. “You were the first.” He promised. “And you were always going to be the last.” Hank said nothing. “I never learnt to process things the way most people do. I wasn’t given the chance. Blaming my mother seems cliche, but…”  
“If I gave you the chance to leave now- a head start, I mean, would you take it?” Hank offered.  
“No.” Connor answered, immediately and with all the confidence in the world. “It would only be a matter of time before I was arrested, and if given the option I’d like to spend that time with you.” He stroked a perfect thumb against Hank’s cheek. “Would you feel satisfied to know that I’d been arrested?”

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?”  
“Are you afraid of me?” Connor asked. Hank looked up at him, and shook his head. Despite everything, Connor still gave the impression of a lost, young soul, desperate to be loved and accepted. It was a dangerous train of thought. “I’m glad.”  
Hank pulled away and cradled his head in his hands as though he had a headache. “I need a fuckin’ drink.” He stood up and walked out of the room, down the hall and into the kitchen. He picked up the nearest beer can and drained it as Connor watched. His tolerance was almost impressive. “Want one?”

Connor didn’t, but he had a feeling it would put Hank at ease and so he nodded and accepted the drink handed to him. They stood opposite one-another in the kitchen for a moment, watching one-another carefully.  
“Why haven’t you tried to stop me calling the cops?” Hank asked.  
Connor glanced down at the floor. “I didn’t want to fight with you.” He said, and then, “You mean so much to me, Hank. More than you’ll ever care to know.”  
“Oh, come on- I’ve given you plenty of time to explain yourself.”  
“And?” Connor asked. He stepped forward. “Do I deserve to be punished for my crimes?”  
Hank was silent for a moment. “I can’t judge you. You know that.” 

Connor's smile was warm. “You don’t want to make the choice, is that it?” He asked.  
“Maybe… something like that.” Hank only realised it was true once the words left his mouth. “If you left now- we could go back. Forget this ever happened.”  
“I don’t want to forget.” Connor insisted. “I’ve come this far. Either your friends drag me out of the house kicking and screaming, or I stay.” How he was able to spout such insanity without batting an eye was beyond Hank. He stepped closer still until they were inches apart, and lent forward to place the beer can on the countertop behind him. They were so, so close. “You don’t hate me. You just think you should.”  
Hank didn’t know what he felt. It was easier to let Connor decide for him. 

“I’m-“  
“I know.” Connor answered, and Hank believed him. “I know you.” Hank should have stopped Connor when he reached up to hold his head between his hands, but he didn’t. He should have pulled away when Connor pressed their lips together, but he didn’t. He just stood there, frozen. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be loved. And this was love, however deranged and deluded it may be. Connor loved him. His shaking hands found their way to rest on Connor’s hips. He’d longed for this feeling for years.  
“Sorry.” Connor said sheepishly when he pulled away. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Thoughts swarmed Hank's mind. What the hell was he doing? He looked down into Connor’s eyes and swore to himself he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. But, then again, what ‘life’ did he have to begin with? He was alone, depressed, and saw few reasons to change. He hated his job and loathed the people he worked with. Connor promised to change that. He saw the good in Hank when no one else had bothered to try. Maybe living a life under the watchful eye of a protective boyfriend was better than dying a drunk divorcee. Maybe Hank needed Connor.

When Hank pulled Connor against him, he began to tremble. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, concern evident in the cadence of his voice.  
“Nothings wrong.” Connor promised. “I’ve just been waiting for this for so long. I feel like I can’t breathe. Maybe I need to sit down.”  
Hank chuckled. The sound was warm and genuine, and Connor couldn’t resist smiling in response. “Okay. C’mon, then.”  
They made their way over to the couch and sat down next to one-another. “Is this the first time you’ve been in my house?” Hank wanted to know. 

Connor shook his head slowly. “No. I tried not to make a habit of it-, but I couldn’t help myself. I think Sumo likes seeing me, too. I know you don’t take him out much.”  
“Okay, okay.” Hank said. “Couldn’t imagine what’s so fascinating though.”  
“I like to imagine we live together. What it might be like.” Connor placed a careful hand against the fabric of the couch. “Twenty minutes before you came home I sat here and wondered what your lips would feel like around my cock. I jerked off to a photo of you I’d taken the second time we’d met.”  
“How-“  
“I followed you home. Watched you stroke yourself. I think that’s when I realised.”

“God- Connor-“ Hank began, his face flushed red with embarrassment.  
Connor fell back against the seat of the couch, his hands above him, his legs draped over Hanks. “I’ve never wanted anyone so desperately in all my life. I don’t know how you manage it- the longing. I couldn’t stop myself.”  
“I know.” Hank said, even though he didn’t. The ‘love’ that he himself had experienced paled in comparison to Connor’s descriptions.  
“I thought about you. Constantly. I couldn’t imagine my future without you in it.”  
Hank swallowed. “And now?”

“It’s clearer than ever.” Connor wrapped his arms around Hanks neck and pulled him down, so they were face to face. He kissed him once, quickly, and smiled. “You can see it too, can’t you? Our life together. I’ll cook and clean when I’m not at school or working. I’ll scold you when you drink but buy you beer anyway. We’ll take sumo for his walks together. If I give you enough time, maybe you’ll fall in love with me.”  
Hank blinked slowly. “Maybe.” He said slowly, because he had nothing else to say. “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it!!! Not my best fic but probably one of my favourites. Hope y’all agree.


End file.
